


Catharsis

by junes_discotheque



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Discipline, Hand Jobs, M/M, Size Difference, Spanking, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/pseuds/junes_discotheque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(SPOILERS for Everything Burns through #5 (JIM #644) and beyond, plus speculation) Loki needs forgiveness, and Thor needs to forgive. Loki has an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> I would be ashamed except I'm not. Anyway, this includes spoilers for everything published in Everything Burns thus far, plus speculations, plus elements of Gillen's Plus One thing that isn't out yet but whatever.

On the second anniversary of Loki’s exile, he bakes cupcakes.

Hulkling and Wiccan ( _Teddy and Billy_ , he reminds himself) are still asleep upstairs, probably tangled in the sheets; they don’t tend to wake up until past noon unless there’s an emergency, and Loki is always notified by a massive _thump_ as they unbalance together and wind up on the floor.

Chavez ( _America,_ though Loki’s never been comfortable with her first name—with any of their given names) is likely in the basement training. She’ll come up for breakfast, see the cupcakes, and berate Loki for making a mess. She’ll still eat two, though. Hulkling and Wiccan will, over the next two days, devour whatever Loki doesn’t successfully hide.

He doesn’t mind.

The house they’ve chosen as their base is a simple two-story in a quiet little New Jersey suburb. Loki doesn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it, but he supposes there must be one.

On the counter, Ikol steals sprinkles. Loki shoos the bird away. Ikol gives him a disgruntled look and clasps his beak around a cake before taking off. Part of Loki wishes Ikol would go away entirely; the rest cannot imagine a life without his magpie-self on his shoulder, dispensing false wisdom.

He only wishes Thori were there as well.

But that was a long time ago. He has a new team now, and there’s talk of inviting _the others_ to join their little house. Loki’s not sure he likes that idea. It took long enough for these three to warm up to him and his presence. He has no desire to repeat the experience, and fears that if they did invite newcomers (to him, anyway; they’re supposedly old friends), he would be kicked out just as surely as he was cast from Asgardia.

Two years.

He tells people he’s sixteen, now. He doesn’t look it, still looks and feels like the same little, scrawny child, but his mind is sharp as ever and he resents his teammates for treating him like a baby. Sometimes, anyway. Most of the time it is sufficient that they tolerate him at all.

Loki smears chocolate frosting on the cupcakes and tosses multicolored sprinkles on top. Leah liked sprinkles. (She’s gone now, too, but in the happier sense that she simply left, of her own will, to write her own story. It’s better than death, Loki knows, yet he cannot help but feel the same loss.)

He sits at the table with the cupcakes on a plate and folds his hands and waits for the _thump_ of his companions’ return.

It doesn’t come.

He investigates, only to find the house empty and a note taped to the stair rail—attack in New York, they all assembled, will tell Loki wondrous tales upon their return. He folds the note carefully and tucks it in the pocket of his tunic. It’s not such an odd occurrence. He cannot fight like they can, and he supposes in a straight brawl his cunning isn’t much use either. They don’t know about his magic, and he is content to let them think him powerless. It suits him, for now.

Rather than wait around for their return, Loki goes for a walk. He walks until the sun sets, until his feet ache and his hands tremble, until sweat beads on his brow despite the bitter cold. He would not admit it, but he misses home. He’d known what he was sacrificing, knew he must in order to save everyone (to save _Leah_ ) and it was worth it. To save her, it was worth it.

At least, he used to think so.

It has been so long since he’s seen her face that he’s not sure anymore.

When he thinks back to his time in Asgardia, there is only one face that he can recall, though the edges have dimmed and he’s not sure if what he recalls is truth or wishful thinking. It hurts, more than Loki thought it would.

He makes a decision, then. Foolish. But necessary.

On the second anniversary of his exile, Loki returns home.

~ * ~

Thor has taken the throne, and Loki half-expects to find him there, stone-faced and regal.

But no, he is in his chambers, half-dressed and staring out the window. Loki wonders what he’s thinking, wonders if his brother misses him just as much. Thrills at the thought of the look on his face when he sees Loki enter.

He comes through the window and drops to one knee at Thor’s feet. To his amusement, Thor’s jaw drops and his eyes bug terribly.

“Brother,” Loki murmurs.

Thor’s hand wraps around Loki’s throat and squeezes as he lifts the little trickster into the air. “I cast you out, villain,” Thor growls. “How is it that you return to torment me?”

“I am Loki,” Loki says simply, eyes watering with the effort to speak, to breathe. “You think your will alone is enough to bar me?”

The hand loosens, just barely, and Loki’s feet brush the floor.

“Please, brother,” he says. “I wanted—”

“I trusted you,” Thor says. “You betrayed me. Betrayed Asgardia. Through your schemes and tricks you nearly doomed us all. Exile was mercy, brother, because I could not bear to see you killed.” His voice softens. “You have a life on Midgard, do you not? You have friends, allies, all you did not have here?”

“I have everything,” Loki agrees. “The mortals treat me far better than my peers in Asgardia, though sometimes—I believe they do not trust me, and they deliberately keep me from battle. It is tiresome. And of course, on Midgard, I do not have you.”

Thor releases Loki’s throat and grasps his wrist instead.

“You would beg my forgiveness, then?”

“I would.”

“And yet, I cannot believe this is yet another of your schemes.”

Loki shrugs. “It may be. Yet I do not ask you give forgiveness freely; rather, I ask to earn it. Asgardia’s king has already taken his vengeance, and after tonight, I vow to return to my exile. Just allow me this one thing. Take retaliation as my brother, as my _guardian,_ and let it be done.”

Thor frowns. “As parent to child then?”

Loki wrings his hands. What he is asking—No. No, this must be done. His brother has not been so unaffected as Loki believed. He needs this as well. They both do—and then Loki will be banished once again and he will return to his little house and await his teammates, his _friends,_ for they are his friends, truer friends than he had on Asgard in any life.

“Yes,” he says, his voice small and high. “Please, brother.”

Thor closes his eyes and nods. He does not release Loki’s wrist, which makes it somewhat more difficult for Loki to untie his trousers, but he manages, and when they’re around his ankles Thor practically lifts him onto his lap.

Loki struggles—of course he struggles, he wouldn’t feel right just letting Thor do what he will even if he’s the one who suggested it in the first place—but Thor’s grip is strong. He drapes Loki across his knees, trapped legs hanging down and face pressed into Thor’s pants. Thor flips up Loki’s tunic, leaving his backside bare and exposed and the fabric bunched up his back, making Loki flush with humiliation. He pins Loki’s wrists at the small of his back and presses against his back with one giant forearm. His hand, huge and hard like a paddle, rests against his bare backside, and Loki swallows.

“Are you well, brother?” Thor asks quietly. Loki turns his head as best he can and glares.

“Get on with it,” he bites out.

“You’ll tell me if—if I hurt you?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Loki asks. Thor still looks uncertain, and Loki sighs. “If it is too much, you’ll know.”

That seems to satisfy Thor well enough, as his hand leaves Loki’s backside only to come rushing back with a resounding crack. Loki yelps and jumps in Thor’s grip, trapped legs kicking out, his skin stinging—though his heart is pounding wildly, he recognizes it’s from shock and nerves rather than pain. Thor is starting slow, he understands, as his brother’s hand comes down again. This time, he barely winces.

“Calm, brother,” Thor murmurs, and Loki does, forcing himself to relax as Thor continues to cover his backside with slow, easy spanks. He stays quiet, as well, gasping a little when Thor’s hand comes down on an already well-covered spot or edges across his thighs. His fingers clutch at Thor’s sleeves, as well as they can with his wrists still bound in Thor’s strong hand, and he can feel himself trembling. Waiting. Just _waiting_ for that hand to come down harder, to punish him as he deserves.

He squirms in his brother’s grip, biting back a moan at the friction—then stopping, horrified, as he’s certain Thor can feel the bulge against his leg. He buries his face against his brother’s side, fully humiliated. He wishes Thor would just _get on with it_.

Thor’s hand pauses and comes to tangle in Loki’s hair. “Do not be ashamed,” he murmurs. “Not for this. For your actions during the burning of the nine realms, certainly, and I will ensure that you are properly chastised—but not for this.”

Loki’s backside is throbbing, and though he cannot bear to look behind him, he’s sure it’s flushed a healthy pink. He chokes back a sob and nods. Thor gives his hair one more tug.

“Tell me,” he says.

“Just—” Loki’s voice shakes. “Just punish me. _Please._ ”

There’s a long pause, an uncomfortable silence that sends Loki shifting restlessly in his brother’s grip. When Thor speaks, his voice is uncertain. “Very well.”

The next swat to land is considerably heavier, and Loki bites his lip to keep from crying out. His skin, already sore from the first round, is far more tender than Loki would have thought. Thor strikes four times on each side, overlapping points and making the hurt _bleed_ down Loki’s backside. He jerks in his brother’s grip with each hit, trying to angle away from his hand, but Thor’s grip is strong and true and save for ineffectual spasms there is nowhere Loki can go.

He whimpers when Thor repeats the cycle, and nearly cries out when he goes for a third round. It _hurts,_ echoing through his body, a single point of pain overwhelming him more than he would have thought. He’s helpless, draped over Thor’s knees and held still by his well-muscled arms. And worst, _impossibly,_ he’s still hard against his brother’s leg. Each heavy swat sends another pulse through his throbbing erection, the force of the spanks forcing him to rub against Thor, and Loki’s almost driven mad with the need.

It’s impossible to focus. The pain in his backside and the ache between his legs are overwhelming, conflicting, and when Thor abandons Loki’s backside to land rapid, stinging swats right at the tops of his thighs, Loki cannot contain himself. He cries out, unashamed, unthinking, howls and gasps and sobs as his body spasms, his hips lift to meet the spanks only to send his front sliding wonderfully, _horribly_ against Thor.

“Please,” he hears himself beg.

Thor’s hands tighten, though he does relent, and Loki chokes back a sob of relief.

“Speak, Loki.”

But he can’t, he _can’t,_ he can barely catch his breath much less tell Thor what he’s thinking, and when he finally gets his voice back, what comes out is: “ _I don’t regret it._ ”

Thor is relentless, the crack of his hand deafening, and Loki sobs. He can’t see, tears blurring his vision, sliding down his cheeks and soaking his brother’s pants. The swats come hard and fast, a flurry of stinging, throbbing agony, each spank spanning the whole of Loki’s backside.

And then Thor starts _talking._

“You have no idea— _no idea—_ after you died, I was lost, and when you returned—when _I brought you back—_ I thought it would be different, I thought we—but in the end, you are _Loki_. And what Loki is, is _traitor._ ”

And the worst of it is, Thor’s _right._

Sure, Loki saved everyone. Sure, in the end, he was only trying to do the right thing. But his sacrifice—Thor’s hatred for the Nine Realms’ survival—wasn’t just a sacrifice for him. Thor will never trust him again, and while Loki understands it, can live with it, Thor _can’t._

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, quiet.

Thor’s hand stills, though Loki’s backside still throbs terribly. Loki gulps, tries to compose himself, and only mostly fails.

“I know,” Thor murmurs. He releases Loki then, and for a brief moment, Loki thinks he should flee. Disappear. Escape, return to exile, because he cannot face his brother. He thought it was bad when he was brought before the King to hear his sentence, but this—this is so much worse.

But then all of this would be for nothing, so he doesn’t. He lets Thor manhandle him until he’s sitting with his sore backside hanging off Thor’s lap. He lets Thor bury his face in Loki’s shoulder and shake with barely-constrained emotion.

He lets Thor press a fleeting kiss to his brow.

“I don’t know how to be good,” Loki murmurs. “I don’t think I have it in me.”

Thor chuckles, or at least Loki thinks he does—a shattered, broken sound. “You saved us.”

“We wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for me. And I destroyed everything anyway.”

“Not yet,” Thor says. He draws away and surveys Loki’s face. He’s sure he looks a mess—his hair in disarray, his eyes red from crying, tear-tracks streaming down his blotchy cheeks. But Thor doesn’t seem to care, as he tips Loki’s chin up and presses his rough lips to Loki’s softer ones. Loki gasps in surprise, and Thor presses his tongue against Loki’s lower lip, briefly, before pulling away.

“Brother?”

“Yes, all right,” Loki says. Thor smiles and runs his hand down Loki’s chest, down, until he finds the erection that’s still straining against Loki’s stomach—unwavering despite the pain his brother had bestowed upon his behind.

Thor strokes him slowly, calloused fingers squeezing lightly and thumb circling the head. Loki clutches at the thin shirt his brother wears, trembling and gasping—hips bucking into the touch—and he comes embarrassingly quickly.

His brother doesn’t seem to mind, however, as he strips his own shirt off to mop up the mess. Loki traces the lines of Thor’s muscles.

“You can’t come back, Loki,” Thor says at last.

Loki bows his head. He never expected to, not really, but the truth hurts in a way he didn’t expect.

“But you have a new home now,” he continues. “Friends. A purpose. I know—I know you haven’t told them of your magic. I know you don’t trust them. But you should.”

“You don’t want me.” It’s petulant, he knows, but Loki can’t help himself.

Thor kisses him again. “No, Loki,” he says. “I want you. But there is nothing in the terms of your banishment that bars the king from… checking up on a miscreant.”

Loki sighs and rests his head against Thor’s chest, humming contentedly as his brother’s arms wrap around him. “I fear I’m too weak to send myself back to Midgard tonight. Too weak, too exhausted, too hurt—”

“Then rest,” Thor says. “Sleep, and I will sleep with you, and in the morning when you have regained your strength, you will join your friends.”

He wants to protest, but finds that his words were true—he is far too worn to do much but fall asleep the near instant Thor tucks them into bed, snuggling safe and tight in his brother’s strong embrace.

It’s not perfect, Loki thinks. But it’s progress, and really, what else can he hope for?


End file.
